Diamond Absolutes
by SilverGlimmers
Summary: Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character's perspective on anything from MoS to BvS to WW. Each one is related to Superman in some way, but each one is a diamond absolute because their perspective is theirs and thus valid and real to them. This is an ongoing project. Basically just a place for me to roll ideas and thoughts around regarding the DCEU.
1. Chapter 1

_**My WonderTrev feels are strong with the approach of the Wonder Woman movie. Diana graces the first chapter of this project.**_

 **Diana**

 _She didn't know how to honor him._

How could she possibly do it right, when he was so larger than life? How could she give voice to the myriad of emotions he evoked in her? How could she ever pay a tribute that would perfectly capture who he was, and what he was to her?

 _She didn't know how to honor him._

She held him as he died. And she wept. She stoked the fires of her rage, her grief, so she could finish the mission. It's what he wanted. It was all she could do. It was the only thing that made his death worth something.

 _She didn't know how to honor him. Except as a soldier._

But the war ended, and she gave up on saving man's world. They would never come together. They refused to be saved. The battle was finished. She was no longer a warrior. What should she do now? He was one bright thing in a world gone gray and now he was gone. He said she inspired him, but he had inspired her. How could she keep his memory alive?

 _She didn't know how to honor him._

She kept the name he gave her as a mark of respect and love. She used it to forge a new identity and a new life. She wondered, sometimes, as she idly traced the name on her business cards, if he ever knew he was a prince among men to her. He had opened her eyes and he was all she could see. He gave everything to his cause. She understood that. She felt the same, even though she was still alive. The world was a dark place that took what it wanted, leaving broken pieces behind. She kept him safely guarded in her broken heart.

 _She didn't know how to forget him._

The years were relentless. They moved her farther away from his time, from his war. From his life. New wars, new battles, endless strife. She watched from the sidelines and refused to get involved. A soldier no more. He was all but forgotten in history. But he wasn't forgotten by her. How could she forget him? The pain became a dull ache, ever present, a constant thing. She dealt in antiques and history and she was occasionally reminded of him through little things. A certain smile, hair falling over a pair of blue eyes, a wry joke.

Or a pure heart and a desire to save the world.

A hero in a blue suit emerged, and she saw some of Steve in him. She wondered how long it would take before the world broke him too. She waited. She watched. She mourned his loss of innocence, his idealism. It was familiar, which meant it was inevitable.

But the moment she saw Steve in him the most was when he gave his life for something he believed in. And he believed in this world. She saw herself in him, but she saw Steve more. She saw the awful cyclical nature of humanity come around again as Lois wept over his body. She felt the crushing loss, the grief anew.

The world buried him amid pomp and circumstance. Bruce scoffed at them, calling it a circus. But she understood. They were paying tribute the only way they knew how. Not with a god-like statue, not with worship. With heartfelt grief and the desire to carry on in his name. With gratitude and the desire to be better.

 _They don't know how to honor him. Except as a soldier._

Bruce was readying for battle, honoring him in the same way whether he realized it or not. Even he reminded her of Steve now, in how he could fight so hard and do so much without powers. She saw him everywhere. And Diana felt the stirrings of a feeling long forgotten in her own heart.

Hope.

Maybe this was the best way to honor him after all. As a soldier.

Stop the war. Protect the world. Make the sacrifice worth it.

To honor both a superman and her prince, she would fight again.

* * *

 _ **Hope to have more chapters next week or so. Thanks for reading! :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_This one is a bit longer. The lengths will vary depending on the POV. Thanks to the ones who read and give support. :)_ **

**Father Leone**

He left his coat behind when he went for coffee that morning. The weather was cool but not bad. He left his doors unlocked, no need to worry in this small town, and strolled down the block to the corner café. He gave a friendly greeting to all he passed. He was on a first-name basis with at least half the population of Smallville, even if they didn't attend his congregation.

 _Dear Lord, thank you for this fine day._ He pulled open the door to the diner with a smile and approached the counter. It was only then that he noticed the diner was more subdued than usual, filled with whispers and hushed conversation instead of the loud voices that were typical. A patron at the counter folded his paper and laid it next to his coffee, his motions heavy and slow.

The waitress Beth greeted him when she saw him and began preparing his usual in a to-go cup. He noted her unusual lack of enthusiasm and chalked it up to personal problems. He made a mental note to ask her how she was doing when she returned, maybe she needed to talk.

But the next moment his eyes caught the front page of the paper to his right. The Daily Planet's headline was printed in large block letters. **SUPERMAN DEAD.**

His horrified gasp must have been louder than he thought because the old farmer who had just put the paper down met his eyes with sad understanding when he suddenly looked up, unconsciously reaching for some kind of support.

 _Lord, how can this be? How could he die? How could HE die?_

He scanned the headline again, hoping to somehow disprove it. But no. He was dead. Father Leone was itching to scour the paper fully but realized the farmer was still watching him. He needed to find his own copy somewhere. Beth returned with his coffee and realized he was up to speed now. She gently set his cup next to the paper with a quiet murmur.

"On the house, Father."

She disappeared into the back, already sniffling. Still in shock, Father Leone absently picked up his cup and turned to leave, but a hand on his arm prevented it. He turned back, and the farmer silently handed him the folded paper. Throat clogged, he nodded his thanks and exited as fast as was courteous.

He walked back to his church, suddenly aware of the biting cold in the air.

* * *

 _Dear God. He's dead. The world is far poorer without him._

Father Leone sat alone in a pew, all thoughts of his daily work gone, his coffee untouched by his side. The Daily Planet lay next to him on the pew, every word of the main story read. He had gleaned every fact from the article on the circumstances of his death, but it didn't make him feel better. Superman had killed himself to kill a monster. It sounded just like something he would do.

 _I didn't think it was possible. I thought he could go on forever._

He sat with his hands clasped together in prayer, searching for solace from a higher power that didn't seem to be coming. He felt hollowed out inside. His gaze fell on the magnificent stained glass window of Jesus in Gethsemane.

 _But he's not Christ. I know that. He's not a god._

Still, he couldn't help but think it of the man who had sat in this very church and told him he was the one the aliens were looking for. The one whose gut told him Zod couldn't be trusted but if there was a chance it could save humanity, shouldn't he take it? He wasn't a god. But he was someone good.

He needed to get to work. He stood slowly and made his way with a heavy heart to work on the tasks of the day, but Superman would not leave his mind. He prayed as he worked; a silent conversation in his head between him and his maker, a one-sided dialogue that ebbed and flowed.

 _What will happen to him now, Lord? Will he come to you? Would you accept him into your kingdom, into your arms? He's an alien who surely isn't counted as one of your children._

Father Leone swept the floor and looked at the place he had talked with Superman only once before, back before he had been known as Superman, the man who flew in a blue suit and a red cape.

 _He sacrificed himself to protect us. More than once._ Stray thoughts collected on the floor with dust and litter. _He took a leap of faith and trusted us._ The pastor swept the pile into a dustpan and dumped it into the trash. _Surely some kind of exception could be made considering all he's done. Surely you can see that his heart is as human as anyone?_

Father Leone cleaned the glass in the front doors, removing smudges and fingerprints until it was just right. He wished his thoughts were as clear. He needed answers. He needed reassurance, but he wasn't getting any. _Lord, please accept his soul as one of your own children, a pure heart, and a good man._ He rose from his kneeling position in front of the doors and considered the sunlight filtering through them, wondering if he could capture any kind of sign from it, but ultimately gave up with a sigh. _Amen._

He sat for several more minutes, considering. Not only were there personal consequences in Superman's death (Father Leone had only met him once and yet still felt a connection had been lost that led to a deep and personal grief), but there was also the more selfish consideration of what would happen to the world now that it had lost its protector? Granted, the world had got along fine for thousands of years before Superman but that was before they had proof that life in outer space actually existed. There was a niggling fear present now that came with Superman's death. Father Leone had never felt so helpless, so powerless. For the first time, he wondered if God had things under control up there. Or maybe He hadn't wanted this being here either.

He moved on to the assorted tasks his church had taken on. He sorted clothes for needy families, he began to assemble basic toiletries and welcome bags for new immigrants. It was a good thing, but today it didn't feel like enough. He needed something bigger, something that reached farther.

 _Lord, what can I do? How can I help the world in the face of this tragedy? I need guidance._

 _Please._

Nothing. Usually, he turned the radio on to catch up on current events, but today he didn't see the need and he was worried he wouldn't get an answer if there was too much noise. _Help me know what to do, Lord._ Maybe the answer would appear. He was lost in his own thoughts until a voice interrupted him.

"Yoohoo, Father Leone!" A woman's voice echoed in the chapel. He left his office and greeted Mrs. Sullivan, an elderly woman who attended his services. Her hair was perfectly in place, her clothing color coordinated. She slipped her sunglasses into her oversized bag before she shook his hand. "I have a whole car load of donations for you!" She beamed at him proudly.

"Excellent, let me help you unload." It was something, at least.

He followed her out to her car and assisted her in bringing in several bags of donations she had brought for their different charity projects, glad that she kept a constant flow of small talk going that enabled him to give basic answers in reply. He didn't feel like talking today, not about little things.

Mrs. Sullivan was clearly hungry for chatter, though, because she lingered after they were done. Father Leone smiled graciously, finished his coffee and went along with it as she flitted from topic to topic. Since she liked to stay informed on every current topic, it didn't surprise him when she brought up Superman.

"Oh my, did you hear about that alien dying? I didn't think anything could kill him!"

"I heard. No, I didn't either." Father Leone smiled sadly, expecting to share feelings of loss.

Mrs. Sullivan sniffed. "Well, I hate to say it, but maybe it's for the best." He looked up in surprise.

"What do you mean?" Father Leone asked cautiously, afraid of the answer.

Her tone lowered considerably even though they were the only two present. "I just think maybe it's better that he's gone now. He brought too many problems, he was never meant to be here."

Father Lone tried to mask the shock on his face but had the feeling he only partially managed it. It was just such an ungrateful thing to say. "This was the only home he ever knew. All he tried to do was help us."

"Did he, though?" She leaned closer, a patronizing gleam in her eye. "That business in Africa seems to suggest otherwise. And even the battle of Metropolis he seemed to hurt as many as he saved. All he did was invite problems just by existing." She must have mistaken his silence for agreement because she paused for a moment and then resumed. "I think he'd gone bad. He knew the public was catching on to him, that he wasn't as kind and benevolent as he made out, and it certainly looks like he was somehow involved in the Capitol Bombing too—"

"Lex Luthor was responsible for that. It was in the paper," Father Leone supplied tersely. She flapped a hand at him.

"Oh, you know as well as I do the news only reports what they feel like reporting. I'm sure there's more to it. And the way he left after—"

"No." Though quiet, Father Leone's voice was emphatic enough to silence her. His voice was strong in the silent church. He met her eyes in such a direct manner it was almost confrontational. "He was good."

She couldn't hide the shock on her face either, to have the quiet peaceful Father challenge her so. There was a tiny beat of awkward silence, then Mrs. Sullivan recovered immediately and gave him a simpering smile.

"I suppose you just naturally put your unquestioning faith in a savior figure, don't you?" Father Leone didn't trust himself to answer. Satisfied that she had won the conversation, she turned and headed for the door. "See you Sunday, Father."

He swallowed. Hard. "Thank you for your donations."

He waited until the doors closed behind her and then he crushed his coffee cup flat, making the top pop off. He picked up the lid and threw both away. If that was the Lord's way of answering his prayers he wasn't sure he wanted it.

* * *

The day passed unbearably slow, and Father Leone spent almost all of it by himself. The depressed atmosphere seemed to have affected the whole town enough that even the usual evening parishioners didn't show up. The chapel was so quiet that Father Leone was surprised when the doors opened and admitted a middle-aged man who stepped in, wavered a moment and almost moved to leave. After stopping at the door and eventually turning around again the stranger approached the back pews and took a seat, making no move to approach him. Father Leone finished up a few things and gave the man space for a few minutes before he quietly approached the new arrival and sat nearby.

"Do you need to talk?" he offered as his glance took in the man's red hair and round face. He held out his hand. "Father Leone, nice to meet you."

"Pete." Pete reached to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you too, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing here. I don't come to church." That bald statement left him looking almost embarrassed, so he mumbled another one hoping to take the edge off his words. "My mom used to come every week though. Long time ago." Pete's gaze wandered around the sanctuary, taking in the window and the pulpit. Father Leone could sense the unrest in him and tried again.

"What's on your mind?"

Pete's shoulders slumped as he sighed. "I guess I'm just having a hard time today."

"I understand that. I think many of us are." Father Leone offered Pete a small smile of commiseration, ready to discuss the death of Superman and the fearful implications that came with it. But Pete looked lost in his own thoughts, and his next words weren't quite the ones expected.

"Yeah. My…friend…died. Clark Kent?" Pete gave him a questioning glance, clearly asking if Father Leone knew him.

Father Leone nodded as he took that in. He had seen the headline on the reporter's death but he hadn't read the article. He'd been too focused on Superman. "I saw that in the paper, yes. I didn't know him personally; I don't think we ever met. But death is always hard, especially untimely ones. He was reporting on the Doomsday battle, right?"

There was a split second pause before Pete agreed. "Yeah. Yeah, he was. He was killed trying to get the story."

Father Leone nodded again, his eyes soft with sympathy. "Were you close friends?"

Pete twitched. "We—I don't know. I hadn't seen him in a few years. But I've known him since grade school."

"That's a long time. I'm sorry to hear of his loss."

Pete almost snorted. "Yeah. You have no idea."

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. It's just really wrong for the world to lose someone like him, you know? He was…good. He was a really good person. I hate that this happened to him."

Father Leone nodded, used to adapting the conversation to help others in their grief. "The world will be poorer for his loss. It's not easy to lose good people when the world seems to be suffering a shortage at the moment."

Pete looked up at him, his eyes filled with an elusive quality Father Leone couldn't identify. "No, you don't get it. I didn't treat him well when we were kids, and he still saved my life. He tried so hard to help people, even the ones that hated him. We didn't deserve him." He swallowed, taking a deep breath. Father Leone took a moment before he replied.

"I understand, we can often feel that we are undeserving of God's love and grace. Humankind can be so awful sometimes. But there is good in us too. You can rest assured that your friend will be welcomed in heaven if he was that good a person."

Pete seemed more disturbed by this than he should have been considering it was a natural conclusion. He was suddenly blinking rapidly, mouth open for a second before he spoke. "I just don't know where he'll go now. I never thought he would die."

Father Leone stared at him, struck by the oddity of the words. Everyone died, sooner or later. Every human at least. But Superman had seemed beyond death… His brain started working, turning facts around and around. Clark Kent had died getting the story on Doomsday, a giant creature that Superman and others had fought. Doomsday had killed Superman. Clark had tried to help people, had saved Pete's life when they were kids… He swallowed, his throat dry, and blurted his next question.

"Are we talking about Clark Kent here, or…Superman?"

He knew he was right when Pete's face dropped in absolute shock. "Oh. I guess we're talking about both."

Pete regarded him warily; his eyes wide open in distress that was a stroke shy of panic. "You can't tell anyone, I have confidential rights talking to you. You can't tell people what I said."

Father Leone already had his hands out in a placating gesture. "That is true. You have rights. And so did he when he came to see me." Father Leone gave him a meaningful look. Pete's jaw dropped in surprise.

"When?"

"He needed advice a few years ago after Zod sent his message telling us to give him up. He was looking for someone to talk to." The pastor shrugged, indicating that Clark had found him a suitable listening ear.

Pete visibly relaxed as he took that in. "And you never told anyone."

Father Leone smiled back. "No."

The two men sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, digesting the new information. Clark Kent or Superman, they still felt his loss. Eventually, Pete shook his head.

"I just can't stop thinking about his mom, Martha. She's all alone now."

"Martha Kent—" Father Leone almost groaned the name. Of course. She was a regular parishioner when she wasn't working on Sunday. He had often heard her talk about her son Clark but he had arrived in town long after Clark graduated and moved away. He hadn't ever met the man. Well, not until a few years ago and since he never gave his name and never returned Father Leone hadn't made the connection at all. He recalled details about Martha and realized Pete was right. She was all alone now. Jonathan Kent had been killed before he arrived in town, and Father Leone knew she had no other close family. Something clicked into place.

 _There it is._

Finally, after aimlessly searching for something worthwhile to do in the face of this loss, he had the answer. Not a huge service, but definitely a more important one.

 _Son, behold thy mother._

A warm feeling spread through his chest, pushing out the hollow sadness that had settled in over the day. And he knew this was the answer to his prayers. _Thank you, Lord._

The world would have to take care of itself. He knew what he should do now. He patted Pete's shoulder.

"Let's go see her. She'll need support now, and help with the funeral."

Pete's face changed, losing the tinge of depression it had as he too recognized the importance of such a move. He nodded and got to his feet. "You're right."

The two men stood facing each other a moment, each feeling more at peace than they had all day. A burgeoning friendship was already beginning to bloom. As they turned toward the doors Father Leone had a thought.

"I still don't know your last name."

"Oh, it's Ross. Pete Ross."

"Ross…" Father Leone thought a moment. "Was your mother Helen Ross?"

"Yeah, that was her." Pete waited for Father Leone to lock the doors of his church behind him. "You know, she always thought Clark saving us was an act of God. Wouldn't hear of any other possibility. Like he was some kind of blessed being God gave extraordinary power to so he could help people. I think he scared her, and it was the only way she could explain it to herself so that he didn't."

Father Leone smiled slightly as they walked to his car. Helen Ross had been a woman of strong opinions and unafraid to voice them. Even in her later years before her untimely death from cancer, she was a force to be reckoned with. But he liked this thought. Maybe God had allowed Clark Kent to exist on His earth because He knew Clark would help others. Maybe there was room for him in heaven after all.

They left together and drove out of town, headed for the Kent farm and a mother in need.

* * *

 _ **I acknowledge a high probability that Father Leone knew that Clark Kent was Superman before his death, but for the purposes of this story I chose to make it something he was unaware of. It's a possibility after all since it is never made clear.**_

 _ **The novelization of Man of Steel places Father Leone and his church in Metropolis, but Father Leone's presence in the BvS: Ultimate Edition at the funeral and Kent home make it far more likely that he is a Smallville pastor and I like that idea much better so I went with that.**_

 _ **Not all the ficlets will be placed after Superman's death, some will be interspersed through different times in MoS and BvS, but this one has been niggling me for a while so I wanted to complete it.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading! :)  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**This takes place immediately after the scene when Clark was quite young and playing with the towel on his back, seen at the end of MoS.**_

 **Jonathan and Martha**

"I saw that look on your face."

Jonathan Kent looked up from the kitchen sink as he washed his grimy hands. The old truck was going to need some new parts, but he could make it run again. Martha was standing in the doorway, still holding her empty laundry basket, a grin playing around her lips. Jonathan felt his mouth curving in an answering smile. He turned back to scrubbing grease away before responding.

"You gave him the red towel."

Martha glanced out the window to make sure Clark was still playing with the dog. Sure enough, he was bounding up and down the field near the clothesline, weaving in and out of her freshly hung linens, Hank at his heels.

"He likes that one best. I offered the blue one but he asked for the red." She laid her basket on a chair and leaned against the counter next to the sink, still smiling.

"He does look good in it," Jonathan relented as he rinsed his hands a final time and turned the water off.

Martha handed him a kitchen towel. "I know what you're thinking."

Jonathan focused on drying each individual finger. "Do you?"

"Yeah, I do." She patted his shoulder. "Cause I've thought it too."

Caught, Jonathan looked out the window at his son. "I just can't help it, thinking about all he could do," his voice lowered to just above a whisper as he glanced at Clark again to make sure he was distracted. Man, that kid had incredible hearing. Often he would catch snatches of conversation between him and Martha he was nowhere near enough to hear and ask them for clarification later, much to their amazement. "If they would just let him."

"They" had become a fixture in the couple's conversations over the last few years. The four letter word stood for society as a whole and was the only way they referred to humanity. Clark hadn't asked who "they" were yet, and his parents were happy to keep it that way. Clark had already had a few problems at school and they were feeling the increased tension of Clark's alien biology manifesting itself in unpredictable ways.

"We don't even know what he can do yet, honey. Maybe all he'll be able to do is eavesdrop for people and tell them if they have a broken bone." Martha was partially joking, but Jonathan knew she would prefer things that way. Anything to keep Clark safe. He fully understood that notion. But sometimes, if he looked just right, he could see a grown man full of strength and wisdom, helping humanity to be a better race.

Other times, he saw Christ being crucified by his own people. There didn't seem to be an in between.

"He lifted the tractor tire for me, when we were out in the field." He dropped the towel next to the sink and looked at his wife. Just as he expected, she looked shocked.

"What?" she said, then realized it had been a little loud and after a quick look outside again lowered her voice a few more notches. "What?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Yeah, I was pretty surprised too. I was giving him a ride across the back field, but we got stuck on that damn post that I keep forgetting to pull out. Damn thing isn't even strong enough to hold a scarecrow anymore; I need to make a new one. It was jammed up against the undercarriage and I didn't want it to do any more damage. I stopped and was trying to dig out a bit under the tire so I could get to it, and Clark was all ready to help his dad. He said he'd just lift the tire for me and I laughed at him. Kids are always so sure they can do things they can't. I said 'Sure, son, go ahead.' And, well, he sure did. Almost tipped the tractor right over, but I got him to put it down okay. Did let me get to the post enough to pull it out, though." Jonathan gave her an apologetic look. "Our son is really strong, Martha."

Martha stared at him, and he knew what she was thinking. Clark had exhibited behaviors like this before, but he had never been strong enough to lift the tractor. He was growing more powerful with every passing year. And while Martha would never fear her own son no matter what his biology was, this gave her concern over Clark's ability to blend in and what "they" would think of it should the truth ever come out.

"Jonathan, what did you say?"

He smiled. Trust Martha to take the matter of fact approach. He could always count on her practicality.

"I told him to be sure he doesn't do this kind of thing around anyone but you and me. And I told him great job helping me." Jonathan shrugged. Martha laughed a little bit, helping to break the tension.

"I guess that's a good thing, then. Maybe it will keep him safer."

Jonathan looked back out the window. Clark was kneeling on the ground, hugging Hank while the dog enthusiastically licked his face. "Maybe he could help other people with that strength. But it scares me to think about it."

"Why?" Martha knew many reasons it would scare her husband to think of Clark revealing what he was. But she could tell something else was on his mind this time.

"Because of how he is. He'd give them everything without thinking about it at all." Jonathan braced his hands on the sink.

Martha swallowed. "He has the heart of a giver."

"Yep. And sometimes they do nothing but take. And they might, if they could get past the fact that he's not like us."

"But would they? Could they? Humans don't have a great record for that," Martha's tone was flat and frustrated.

They always ended up in the same discussion over and over again. Ultimately they were stymied, unable to foresee how things would go, unsure if Clark revealing himself would ever be a good idea or not. The debate always ended in the same place.

"I know," he sighed.

Jonathan put an arm around his wife's shoulders, watching the wind make the red fabric flap behind his son, like a flag. He could do so many good things…

"Do you think they'll ever accept him?" Jonathan wished they would, but experience made him almost sure they could never do it.

Martha put an arm around his waist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I don't see how anyone can look at him and not see his beautiful pure soul."

Jonathan nodded. Her answer was always the same. Even as she acknowledged how lacking "they" were at times, she still couldn't understand it. Who would reject such a sweet little boy out of fear?

"People are afraid of what they don't understand." Jonathan's eyes tracked his son, now playing peekaboo with Hank in the blowing linens.

"Well, we just have to make them understand then." Martha's tone was grim and resolute as she followed her husband's gaze. She smiled fondly at the sight. "But not yet."

"No, definitely not yet." Jonathan's face was lined with worry. Martha patted his hand.

"There's always hope, Jonathan."

The words settled on him as he looked out at his son, somehow easing his concern for the moment. For now, Clark was safe and happy and undiscovered. It was all he could ask for.

"I guess there is." Jonathan gave her a smile that finally reflected in his eyes. "Let's go to town. I need some parts for the truck, and if he's real good maybe we can get Clark some ice cream."

Martha realized his voice had been steadily rising until the words ice cream were spoken in a tone just short of a raised voice. On cue, Clark's head popped out from behind a checkered tablecloth.

"Ice cream? Dad, you said ice cream!" he yelled at the house.

Even with the window closed they could hear his high pitched excitement. Jonathan laughed softly and spoke loud and clear. "He better meet us in the car if he wants some."

"Yay! C'mon Hank!" Clark set off at a run, heading for the car on the other side of the house.

Martha smiled.

* * *

 _ **This scene has been gnawing at me for a while now, and I did my best to show how fear and faith/belief can reside in a person at the same time, because they can. Too often there is complaining about Jonathan not believing in Clark or teaching him to live in fear and that is not all there was. Jonathan was a loving caring father who saw the hero his son could become, his only doubts were whether the world could handle it. I have no doubt that he desired humanity to embrace Clark, but his realistic and practical nature recognized the real possibility that he would be feared and shunned instead. BvS clearly showed that happening, so his fears were not unfounded or paranoid. And no, he didn't die for nothing. ;)  
**_

 _ **More chapters to come. Thanks for reading! :)** _


	4. Chapter 4

**_Dedicated to the Snyder family, prayers and love going out to them. Do what you have to do, guys._ **

**Secretary Swanwick**

 _"Do what you have to do, General."_

Secretary of State Swanwick stared at his reflection in a darkened window and tried to imagine Superman on the other side as he had been two years ago.

But he only saw himself reflected back. Tired. Weighted down. Worn. Lacking. If anything in the reflection resembled Superman, it was the well hidden look of disappointment in his eyes.

Tomorrow the nation would bury a hero they had no business burying because they hadn't earned him. And it was a real possibility the world would move on and in time forget him. After all, he wasn't one of them.

The glossy new coffin with Superman's 'S' boldly emblazoned on top was in the basement of the government building he was standing in, a secure area with guards posted outside the room as an added measure. The government couldn't take the chance that zealots or haters would try to do something with the body even after he was gone, like Zod.

And besides, the government had appearances to uphold. They couldn't very well bury their hero with all the trimmings if they didn't have him. Like plenty of soldiers before him, the country had sacrificed him and was now prepared to sing his praises only after he'd given his life for them.

Calvin glanced at the security monitors that showed the casket standing alone in a closed room. Its solitary stand was a little too familiar, an echo of its occupant. Tomorrow he and Major Ferris would walk alongside it and escort Superman to his final resting place. It was his job to do so, however disturbing it might be. And as always, he would do what he had to do. The soldier on monitor duty was taking a quick coffee break but once he returned Calvin figured he should go home and get some rest for the next day. It was already late and he should have left hours ago.

Major Ferris materialized at his side, so quiet she almost startled him. "All preparations ready for tomorrow, sir."

"Good. Thank you."

She nodded and went silent. They had worked together long enough he could usually read her face most of the time, but tonight was not the case. She had barely said ten words to him in the few days since the Doomsday incident, acknowledging his orders with a curt nod or monosyllabic response. Since he hadn't felt much like talking either he hadn't dwelled on it. Now he studied her face in the glass and when that yielded nothing turned his head to study the real thing. Finally, since she still didn't utter a word, he relented with a small internal sigh.

"Something on your mind, Major?"

Carrie's mouth opened slightly but it still took her a moment to speak, a clear indication that she was seriously considering her words before she uttered them. She was deeply bothered by something, he could tell that.

"Do you think we weakened him with that nuke?"

Calvin stared at the window, more comfortable making eye contact with himself than her, especially after such a question. It was probably their lifetime of military training, but Carrie seemed to be of exactly the same mind. They both faced forward as he answered.

"I don't think so. The kryptonite seemed to be the major factor in his death."

Carrie's jaw tightened. "He disappeared off the radar. He was gone for over five full minutes. Don't tell me he just shook it off."

He could sense the anger starting to radiate off her as she spoke, her emotions coming to the fore now that she was verbalizing them. It was a rare thing for her, and not something she had ever done in front of him. Their relationship had always been strictly professional, with only occasional lapses into personal conversation. He found himself distinctly awkward at the sudden change. The added factor of remembering that time just increased the tension. They had thought he was dead, then he was back, then he really was dead.

"The nuke didn't kill him. Doomsday did."

She pounced on his statement, aggressively eager. "But you argued against the nuke too, you thought it was a bad idea."

He refused to get pulled into the emotion of the moment. He weighed his statement, like an official response to the press. "It seemed like an overaggressive measure considering the risk."

"The risk to Superman." Carrie would have made a fine reporter. She was beginning to sound like Lois Lane.

He hesitated before confirming it. "Yes."

It was clear she'd received the answer she had expected. "Neither of us was happy with that order, but we did it anyway." She paused for him to reply, but he had nothing to say so she pushed forward. "We betrayed him."

"We followed orders. It's not the same." His rebuttal was almost instant.

She made a sound of rejection. "It's not? Sure feels like it."

"We were dealing with something we had never dealt with before. We did what we had to do." His own words echoed in his ears and brought back Superman's resigned but determined visage looking through one way glass at him, just after he'd told the alien they were under orders to hand him over to Zod.

 _Do what you have to do, General._

Considering the accounts they had received of Superman sacrificing himself to make sure Doomsday was dead, he was reasonably sure Superman would have told him the same if he'd been present for the debate over whether to go nuclear. But would he still have had that look of disappointment in his eyes? Calvin didn't like to think about it.

Major Ferris crossed her arms, holding herself together as she stared straight ahead.

"When Christ was arrested and tried, the Roman governor couldn't find any fault in him. He couldn't see any reason to punish him. But the crowd called for his crucifixion, and so he let the crowd pressure him into it. Isn't he guilty to a degree?"

"We are not Pontius Pilate, Major," Calvin bit out impatiently. He knew Major Ferris was a religious woman, but he didn't have the energy for it right now. As long as it didn't interfere with his job she could believe what she liked. He still knew the basics of Christianity after being raised with his church going parents, but he had long since left that behind.

Carrie was unperturbed at his displeasure, her determination to make her point overriding any concern she might have for his comfort level.

"No, we're not. Because Pontius Pilate still didn't recognize the man before him as the son of God. He didn't see him as the savior of the world, just as a man who was expendable or in the way. But someone else recognized Jesus' value and even followed him, believed in him. But when things got difficult and he was scared for himself, he denied knowing him at all and wouldn't stick up for him." She moved slightly closer, and Calvin had the feeling she was moving in for the kill. "Just like we handed over Superman because it was the easier option. Just like we fired a nuke at him and Doomsday because the collateral damage was acceptable. Just like we pulled away the moment his actions were in doubt even though it was all a set up by Lex Luthor." She stepped back, her disappointment in both of them evident on her face. "So, Secretary, who does that make us?"

She didn't wait for his answer, just moved away as the soldier entered to take up his post again. Calvin stared out the window again, sightless as he unwillingly realized the truth.

"Peter…"

He whispered the answer for his ears alone, a personal condemnation.

* * *

Despite his initial decision to go home soon, Calvin spent another hour contemplating his reflection in the window. Then, still unwilling to leave, he sat next to a very nervous soldier and stared at the coffin on the monitor. He couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't done right by Superman.

Even after reminding himself that he had taken Lois Lane's experimental bullet and quietly followed up on it after deciding that Superman deserved a bit of the trust he had already given them, he still didn't feel vindicated. In the end he had helped uncover the massive set-up framing Superman to look guilty, but he hadn't wanted to risk his job to openly accuse Lex Luthor. And no matter how he spun it, Major Ferris was right. The nuke had hurt Superman, even if it hadn't caused his death, and Calvin had argued against it but he hadn't defied orders. In the end he always followed orders and did what he had to do, even if it didn't quite fit what was right. Superman had deserved more, considering he went up against his own kind for them and destroyed the last of his own people to protect them.

The soldier fidgeted next to him as he contemplated, having already bluntly been made aware that Secretary Swanwick wasn't in the mood for small talk. Calvin had been staring at the coffin room monitor for five minutes without uttering a word then he suddenly sat up straight, making the soldier jump.

Calvin stared intently at the monitor a few seconds more, then quickly stood up and headed out the door.

"Keep watching the monitor, soldier."

"Umm, yes sir." The befuddled solider went back to staring, but he couldn't see anything different about it.

Calvin made sure he was in the hall with the doorway closed before he pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster and quickly made his way to the stairs. Halfway there Major Ferris exited another room and opened her mouth to ask him a question but the look on his face and the gun in his hand immediately deterred her. Calvin slid past her.

"Gun out and follow me, Major."

"Yes, sir." She unholstered her gun and fell into step with him before they reached the door to the stairs.

Calvin put his hand on the door handle and looked back at her. "The security camera footage has been expertly looped, but whoever did it didn't expect the cockroach on the floor that suddenly disappears every two minutes. Someone is down there with him."

Despite their earlier conversation, her deep feelings on the subject of Superman still included protecting his remains. Carrie nodded her understanding, her eyes intense and alert. They both quietly went through the door and descended the stairs, watchful and ready.

Once they reached the basement level they covered each other down the hall and around the corner to the correct door. Two soldiers were still at attention outside it, guarding the room. But Calvin was sure something was wrong inside it. The soldiers gripped their weapons tightly and stared at him in consternation. They recognized him immediately but had no idea why he was suddenly there. One opened his mouth to inquire but instantly went silent when Calvin put up his hand.

"Soldiers, secure the exits on this floor immediately." Calvin's voice was quiet but intense.

They nodded in unison and moved in separate directions, guns at the ready. Calvin and Major Ferris communicated silently and moved to better positions, counting down until Calvin swung the door open and entered in a quick burst of motion, gun at the ready and Major Ferris covering him. Once they both entered the room they scanned it for danger.

The room was empty except for the coffin resting on a table. Calvin and Carrie swept the room and under the table but found nothing. Calvin glanced at the corner he'd spotted the cockroach in and even that was long gone. Once the room was secure they both lowered their weapons and looked at each other.

"Sir, are you sure? There doesn't seem to be anything wrong here." Carrie was still speaking in a whisper.

"I watched the loop twice. Someone is up to something." Calvin stopped next to the table holding the coffin and inspected its shiny surface, shifting his feet as he did. A faint, gritty, shifting noise emerged from under his shoes. Both he and Major Ferris zeroed in on the sound, each bending down to put a finger on the floor and raising it to inspect the tiny sand grains on them. Calvin looked at her, and her eyes shifted to the coffin as the realization dawned.

Calvin stood up and lifted the lid of the casket, knowing full well what they would see.

The coffin was lined with several bags of sand, just enough to mimic the appropriate weight of Superman's body.

Carrie gasped in horror, but the sound was lost as Calvin slammed the lid down and swore loudly. Calvin ran a hand down his face and tried to collect himself. They weren't done yet.

"How could they get out?" Carrie wondered aloud, already working the next step.

Calvin was right there with her. He looked around, quickly locating the only way someone could have taken the body out without going through the door: The air flow grate on one wall just below the ceiling. It was near the furnace room and larger than average size to provide return air flow. Calvin pulled a chair over and stood on it, then grabbed the grate and pulled. It was missing its usual screw attachments and came out easily. Calvin was grateful for his height as he peered into the dark air vent, shifting his head to allow in as much light from the room behind him as possible. Six feet away he could barely see the next section of vent branching off to rise vertically through the building, but if he strained his ears he could hear a soft whirring noise that indicated someone was grappling up it with some kind of climbing device that did the work for the climber. He pulled his head out of the vent and carefully replaced the vent cover.

"They're still in the building. I bet they're heading for the roof."

Carrie was already moving to the door. "Let's go."

They burst through the door to the coffin room and ran full speed down the hallways, desperate to head off whoever was stealing the body of their hero. Calvin barked at the soldiers to stay at their posts and be on guard as they flew up to the next floor. His longer legs should have put him far ahead of the major, but she was right behind him every step of the way. The building was six stories high and neither slowed their speed as they rushed to the top. Calvin briefly thought of calling for reinforcements but knew that every second counted and they just couldn't spare the time it would take. He hoped he wasn't running Major Ferris straight into danger, since he had no idea how many there might be. But Carrie looked just as determined as he to intercept the thieves, and he knew she would follow him no matter how many they'd end up facing.

They should have been out of breath when they came through the roof door, but adrenaline was still pumping through their veins and they didn't feel it. They scanned the roof, finding nothing at first, until the smallest bit of what looked like black metal protruding from behind the opposite doorway structure caught their attention. It was right next to the caged off ventilation system. Calvin pointed to Major Ferris and gestured for her to go around the far side of the ventilation system, while he would take the front. She nodded and moved quietly across the roof. Calvin did the same, creeping until he could peer around a corner.

A dark vehicle of some kind was too difficult to make out in the darkness, but light was glinting off something on the ground next to it. No one else was in sight. Calvin carefully approached the bundle, realizing the closer he came that it was a heavy figure carefully wrapped in what looked like military grade black parachute fabric made into a bag with rings for attaching ropes and pulleys. It had to be Superman, and the thief had loaded him in and hauled him through the venting to get him up here.

Calvin made a motion to reclaim the body and had only just realized he hadn't given enough thought to the thief when he was suddenly attacked from above. The rustling of fabric was his only forewarning before he was overpowered and disarmed, knocked to his knees in one fluid motion that seemed to effortless to be performed by a man. Before he knew it he was in a chokehold, his attacker behind him and clearly almost just as tall, held fast with a rigid arm around his neck and another braced on his head. He gasped for breath, wondering where his gun had gone, as a mechanically deep voice reverberated in his ear.

"You weren't supposed to catch on so fast."

Calvin pulled in a breath, realizing that if he wanted to his captor could easily crush his windpipe but was refraining. "What the hell are you doing? You can't have him." His hands were scrabbling for purchase on the arm around his neck, trying to pry it loose with no success.

"I'm afraid that decision is out of your hands, Secretary. You might need to take a nap for a while. When you wake up it will all be over. Just relax." The hold on his neck tightened, and Calvin realized he was going to pass out in a matter of seconds and had absolutely no way to prevent it. His vision was fading as he fought for a breath but found none, and he was so involved in trying to fight the inevitable slip into unconsciousness that he didn't even hear the click near his ear.

But he did hear Major Ferris speak.

"Don't do that. Let him go."

The hold on his neck slackened but didn't release him entirely. Still, it was enough to allow him to gasp for air and stay awake. He realized Major Ferris must have her gun pointed directly at his assailant's head. The thief still seemed remarkably relaxed, though. Nothing about his body language indicated tension or fear, and his voice just confirmed that suspicion.

"Major, should have known you'd be nearby. I'm not in top form tonight."

Carrie didn't lower her gun. "What do you want with Superman's body, Batman?"

"Batman?!" yelped Calvin, completely surprised. Batman let him go at that, realizing there was no reason to keep Calvin's eyes off him anymore. He staggered away, taking in a few extra breaths, and turned to stare at the vigilante. Batman looked more annoyed than anything, and still quite unperturbed that the major still had her gun to his head.

Carrie used a foot to kick Calvin's gun over to him without taking her eyes off Batman. Calvin moved to pick it up and point it too. Batman faced them down, unafraid.

"Sorry it came down to this, but I'm still taking him with me. You can't stop me. You can tell whatever story you want afterwards. I don't care if they know who did it."

Considering all they knew about him, both Calvin and Major Ferris realized it was a distinct possibility that he could still incapacitate them and escape but neither was willing to admit it. Carrie clenched her teeth and glared at the Bat.

"He deserves to be buried with honor," she spat. Calvin silently agreed with her, gun still trained as well.

Batman inclined his head. "Yes he does. By his family."

Both their faces went slack with surprise. Neither had considered that as a possible reason for stealing the body of Superman, an alien from another planet. Their eyes flicked to one another, checking to see how much the other one believed that statement.

Batman looked between the two, and his next words seemed to be pulled out of him. "Families…deserve to put their loved ones to rest."

And for some reason, they both believed him.

Calvin knew full well how much was riding on the burial ceremony tomorrow. He also knew his career was over if he lost custody of Superman this close to it. He might as well flush Major Ferris' down the toilet too. He knew what his orders were, and he knew what he had to do. He only hoped Carrie agreed with him.

It only took one look her way to realize that she did.

Calvin looked at Batman, taking in the glinting eyes in the cowl, the tensed body clearly ready for a fight if necessary, and the wrapped corpse on the ground.

"Give me your word you'll deliver him to his family. Your word."

It was a move of great trust from Secretary Swanwick, considering Batman's record recently. But Batman knew it was probably offered solely on the basis that he and Diana had been fighting side by side with Superman to take down Doomsday. He was grateful they knew less about the battle immediately beforehand. He was also grateful this was a promise he again had every intention of keeping.

"I give you my word. His family deserves that right. And so does he."

After taking a moment to measure those words, Swanwick nodded slightly and lowered his gun. Major Ferris followed his lead. They watched Batman quickly load Superman into his plane and fly away. That thing must have stealth mode of some kind because it was nearly silent. Calvin found himself somewhat envious of that kind of vehicle and wondered where Batman got his equipment.

The plane disappeared into the blackness. They stood together in silence, then with unspoken agreement holstered their weapons and went back inside. They worked together to put everything in order.

For so long Calvin Swanwick was a man who followed orders. His career and his identity depended on it. He was always the man that did what had to be done no matter how unpleasant. He realized he was gambling with everything he had pulling a move like this, and Major Ferris was caught up in it too.

But he still had no regrets.

He felt nothing but lighter as they went downstairs and reported a false alarm. He had no regrets as they made sure no footage survived from that night, looped or otherwise. They swept away the sand grains, screwed the vent cover into the wall that morning before the casket was escorted out, and one or both were always present to make sure no one was tempted to peek inside.

The funeral procession was grand and as illustrious as the government could make it. Throngs of people attended to pay their respects. For the first time Calvin could see the effect Superman's loss had had on the citizens. Their outpouring of grief and respect made him feel a bit more like they had earned him, even if it was after the fact. He and Major Ferris walked behind, strong and proud, but both were picturing a more intimate ceremony, most likely in Kansas somewhere, with a loving family to bid him goodbye. The fly over and the cannons and the twenty one gun salute were loud and showy, a sweeping gesture to expel any lingering guilt in the treatment of Superman. Calvin privately hoped Superman's real funeral, wherever that might be, would allow his family to properly mourn his loss.

The flag draped over the casket was folded and brought to them. Calvin realized he and Major Ferris were the honorary parents of the day. He accepted it, and as he looked down at Carrie he could read her expression. There was a small, sad smile on her face. He wondered if the flag would suddenly disappear and make its way to Batman somehow. He smiled too as he realized he hoped so.

As they left the graveyard Major Ferris looked his way.

"You remember Peter's story from the new testament, right sir?"

"Of course I do, Major."

She nodded, satisfied. "I always liked him. He wasn't perfect and he made some mistakes, but after he denied Christ three times, he became the leader of the church. He knew what he had to do. It just took him a while to figure it out. A good man."

He kept his face impassive, determined not to show how pleased he was. "Do you have a point to this, Major?"

She shrugged airily. "I'm just making conversation, sir."

"I see." There was a brief pause while he mulled that over. "Thank you for coming to my aid last night. You were there just when I needed you."

She inclined her head with a small smile. "Just doing my job, sir."

They walked in silence for a while before either spoke again.

"I hope he's at peace now. He deserves it."

"I agree. He's more than earned his place. He's one of us now." Calvin surveyed the graveyard full of fallen soldiers and the crowds of respectful mourners.

"Do you want me to get a case for that, sir?" She indicated the flag he was still carrying.

"Yes. A nice one. And I may have to ship it…home for safekeeping, perhaps you can take care of that."

"Of course, sir. The long way might be safest…through Gotham?"

"You read my mind, Major."

* * *

 _ **Thank you for all the support, it is appreciated.**_

 _ **Just a reminder that this is a project that may go in fits and starts, and I write what moves me. I'm not taking requests for particular characters. If they are on my list or pop into my head I may do them, but this isn't a prompt fic collection. Thanks for reading. :)** _


	5. Chapter 5

**_Just a small one that popped into my head after certain detractors felt the need to imply Superman does not inspire. Please..._**

 ** _Summer is busy and this work has slowed to a crawl but I haven't abandoned it. Hopefully as summer ends I'll have more chances to write._**

 ** _Thanks for all the support and reviews!_**

 **Renata Ortez**

The heat shimmered in waves as it mingled with billowing black smoke, both trapping and enveloping her as she waved a scrap of fabric out of the window. The crowd below was growing and she could see the lights of emergency vehicles and fire trucks in the darkness, but it was getting hard to breathe and the smoke was using the window as an escape as well, reducing her already limited oxygen. Her eyes were tearing, though from the smoke or fear she didn't know.

Months ago one of the foremen on her floor had pointed to the paper thin walls lined with old cracked plywood and laughed. "You see this? Dry and ready to burn. This place would go up like a torch if we ever had a fire. Pray that we never do."

Was it just an hour ago she was giggling and joking with her co-workers, all of them ready to be done at the factory and go home to their families and honor their dead? An unexpected trip to the bathroom put her in this position, in a burning factory on one of the top floors desperate for help that didn't seem to be coming. Faces painted in the traditional Dia de los Muertos skull makeup were turned up to her, but all she could see in the flickering light were white faces, a paper mache skeleton. Symbols of death.

Her mother must be nearby. She always came to walk Renata home after work. Now instead of honoring her dead husband and parents she would be grieving her daughter. It was the Day of the Dead, and Death had come for her. She coughed as she finally stopped waving her pathetic scrap of fabric, her arm was sore and it wouldn't save her. She peered out of the window and wondered how far it was to the ground. Maybe she should jump. The fall might kill her, but wasn't that better than burning or choking to death? There was a slim possibility she might live. Would that be better or worse for her mother to witness? Her coughing mingled with racking sobs as she faced the futility of her circumstances.

The shattering sound behind her made her realize that the factory would probably crumble soon. Another way to greet Death. She sagged down the wall, hopeless. It was the Day of the Dead, and she was going to die. She closed her eyes and waited.

"Senorita."

The voice was so quiet, so low, that for a moment she thought she dreamt it into being through sheer force of will. But when she opened her eyes and looked up, all she could see was him. The blue of his suit stood out among the glowing flames, his face filled with gentle kindness that began in his eyes.

"Superman…"

She reached for him, and he immediately bent down to scoop her up into his arms. Never, not ever, would she have imagined that Superman would come to help someone as unimportant as her. The material of his suit was almost hot as she put her arms around his neck and held on tight. He moved back several steps and she realized there was a hole in the roof where he must have come through. She could feel his body tense as it prepared for flight, and as they rose into the air the building seemed to drop away from them. Renata looked down and realized it was crumbling in on itself.

The cool night air caressed her face and arms, rapidly cooling his suit, and Renata didn't move as he slowly descended to land lightly in front of the crowd. She couldn't do anything but weep as she searched the throng for her mother, but Superman seemed to understand. He was doing exactly the same.

The crowd was strangely quiet. Men pulled their hats off as he passed. Children and women stared in awed reverence as he moved through, stepping back respectfully to at last reveal her mother Maia, teary with joy and relief as she clutched her apron. Her arms parted to receive her daughter and Superman gently deposited Renata into them. The crowd pressed in to get closer to him.

Maia was sobbing her gratitude as she held Renata close enough to feel each heaving breath. Renata looked into his face. His kind, smiling face.

"Gracias Superman," she murmured in Spanish. "I thought Death had come for me."

The pulsing orange glow from the burning factory seemed to intensify, bathing them in its throbbing haze. The crowd was close and tight, trying to touch Superman and at the same time pushing him farther away from her.

He looked at her, his face suddenly painted with skull paint, his eyes still gentle and kind through deep black sockets. And when he spoke, his voice sounded like the nice young paramedic who would later supply her with an oxygen mask.

"Death has come today, but not for you."

He allowed the crowd to pull him away from her, standing in their midst as they tried to touch their savior, and the skull paint highlighted the sadness in his mouth as he turned away.

The words echoed in Renata's mind.

 _"But not for you…"_

Renata opened her eyes with a small gasp, instantly realizing what today was.

"Renata?" Maia was peering into her room, a small stack of clothes folded over one arm. "I was just about to wake you." Renata smiled her thanks as Maia entered the room. "Today is the big day, you need time to prepare yourself."

"It's not a ceremony Madre," Renata laughed as she pulled herself out of bed.

Maia busied herself opening the threadbare curtain to let in some light before spreading the clothes on the bed. Her fussing presence was soothing, as always. "I know, but you should look your best today so they will take you very seriously. I pressed your clothes one last time."

Renata looked at the carefully selected professional clothes and thought that one more ironing session might just make them stiffer than cardboard, but she smiled at her mother and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Madre."

Maia gave her a pleased squeeze around the shoulders and bent down to fluff Renata's pillow. Renata quickly saved her clothing before it too became bedding, and sure enough her mother immediately moved to making up the bed. She moved away with an inward smile. Maia kept her head down and adopted a conversational tone. "Did you have that dream again?" she asked as she straightened the sheet in an exacting way.

Renata draped her clothes over the nearby chair that stood in front of her desk. "Yes."

"You seem to have it a lot," Maia's forced casual tone didn't quite hide the note of concern, and Renata knew she was meant to pick up on it.

"It's not a nightmare, Madre. Just a dream. And it's not strange that my mind wants to think about this right now, since we've been working toward this for months."

Maia straightened up with a sigh. "I suppose not." She moved to stand next to Renata and together they gazed at the framed pictures that now cluttered the desk top.

Three of Renata's friends at the factory had died that night. Their faces smiled out at her from happier times. They had been trapped in their workshop and likely killed before Renata even made it out of the bathroom. Twelve others never came home. Renata looked down at the carefully arranged handwritten papers she had placed there the night before. Today was the day she attended the hearing held by the city's government officials and told her story in an effort to bring about new and improved safety standards. The public outcry against the factory fire and the outdated codes that allowed buildings with such flammable materials to be deemed safe was at an all time high, and Renata had made it her mission to ensure change that would save lives in the future. If not for Superman, Renata would have suffered the same fate.

As if reading her thoughts, Maia's arm crept up around her shoulders again and shifted her gaze to the newspaper clippings that were pinned to her corkboard. A few were the story of Renata's rescue by Superman, and several were the story accounts of his death. A grainy picture of his familiar form, complete with cape and signature 'S' on his chest, was at the top of the board. They both had discussed adding Superman to their Day of the Dead activities, even though his grave was far away. He would be honored, and maybe they would build an altar for him. Her friends would be included as well.

"I thank God for him every night in my prayers," Maia's voice was thick with emotion. Renata nodded. "I wonder how many more people he could save if he were still here."

Renata patted her mother's hand. "I don't know. But that's why this is so important. He's not here anymore. I want to make sure we help as many as we can."

Before the fire Renata hadn't had any kind of aspirations in a career. Factory work, family and friends had been enough. But now Renata often thought about going to school and becoming a lawyer or someone who worked to safeguard people. The world needed someone who would protect the factory workers. She had no idea when Death would truly come for her, but she intended to do the most she could until that day.

Maia gave her a look of admiration and laid her head on Renata's shoulder, which was easy since they were almost the same height. "You are as strong as a mountain, Renata."

Renata smiled. "We will be mountains together, Madre. We will lift people higher. And we will be strong like him."

Maia smiled too. "Strong like him."

There was a moment of silence before they parted ways to start their day, and in that moment existed a myriad of different thoughts. Gratitude and grief and love and determination. And the affirmation that came every day, sliding into their thoughts, curling around their actions, strengthening their will. That Death had not come for them yet, and until it did they would push forward.

* * *

 _ **If the dream seems a bit different than the canon scene in BvS it is only because Renata's mind has combined that night together into a more compelling message for herself. The paramedic who later gave her oxygen actually said the line about Death not coming for her, and Superman's sudden skull paint reflects the fact that shortly after he saved her he died fighting Doomsday. Renata has combined these facts in her subconscious and her dreams reflect the message she is trying to tell herself: That she's not dead yet and she should make sure to help others as much as she can until she is. Though she is a quick face in a short scene in the film, I have fleshed her out into a bit of an OC to continue her story, along with her mother Maia. I quite like Renata, she has become a character I enjoy very much. Renata is a name that means "rebirth" in Latin. Maia means "the maker" and is associated with the Greek goddess of spring.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading! :)**_


	6. Chapter 6

**_I wasn't going to do an entry for Bruce since I feel that much of his perspective was covered in my fic Seek His Monument (not to mention BvS). But the last trailer and some of the promo stills inspired me! So Bruce gets his own installment which feels right, I think. Short and sweet. Hope you like it, thanks for reading! :)_ **

**Bruce Wayne**

 _He made a promise…_

 _To his parents and himself, the day of their funeral._

 _To avenge their deaths. To keep going. To find a purpose._

 _Broken. He never got vengeance for their lives._

"Dressed like a bat, huh? I dig it." Arthur Curry sauntered onto the rooftop to join them, and Bruce hid his satisfaction at the new arrival behind irritated words directed at Commissioner Gordon. If playing well with others was what it took, that's what he'd do.

 _He made a promise…_

 _To the city of Gotham. To its people._

 _To protect them, to provide justice as he watched over them. To never give up._

 _Broken. He couldn't save everyone. He started using his own brand of justice._

Parademons covered the sky, overwhelming in their numbers. Just like the criminals that popped up one after another like the weeds they were.

One at a time, one at a time, just pick them all off one at a time. Not that it helped with the criminals.

But with five of them working, the winged invaders fell that much faster. Five at a time, more if Barry could line them up just right. Barry was stemming the flow, moving faster than Bruce could track him. _"Save one person."_ Barry was doing more than that. Maybe they could actually do this.

 _He made a promise…_

 _To Robin. To Jason._

 _To keep going, to get justice for him. To not let it change him._

 _Broken. Just like Jason, just like the Joker's teeth. Just like Bruce. He had changed so much the Bruce of a year ago now seemed like a different person to him. Now he was someone old and new at the same time. A hybrid of light and dark, but fighting for light._

Diana was holding her own, her sword and her shield flashing in the dim light. She hadn't aged a day since that old picture was taken, but Bruce could still see the years in between on her face. In the turn of her mouth, the set of her jaw. The faraway look in her eyes sometimes. She was a formidable soldier, and the best partner he could have in the mess that was left behind.

When _he_ was broken.

Victor soared through the air, catching Arthur mid-fall and launching him back at the enemy. The kid was more human than any of them.

Bruce took a corner on two wheels and focused on the parademons closing in. He had to get through. The team would keep them off him. He floored the accelerator.

 _He made a promise…_

 _To kill the Superman. To protect the world._

 _Broken. As broken as he finally saw himself to be. This man wasn't the enemy._

 _He made a promise…_

 _To save Martha. To rescue a mother in danger. And that promise he kept._

Parademons landed on the car and ripped off the canopy as if it were tin foil. Bruce looked up, knowing how vulnerable he was, but he didn't stop. And he didn't fight.

Diana swooped out of nowhere and took two of them off, landing on her feet in the street as Bruce quickly left her behind. Barry's light flashed and the last one was gone, and Bruce hadn't slowed one bit. He zeroed in on his target. The red sky and burning buildings reminded him of the last big fight he was in, when he had watched from afar as Superman sacrificed himself to make sure Doomsday was dead. He could still remember his horror, his shock. This wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't want him dead anymore. He did this. His actions brought this into being.

Bruce aimed for the building and gunned the engine around the last turn, sliding under a falling smokestack before it hit the ground. Almost there...

 _He made a promise…_

 _As he stood in the graveyard and watched them bury Clark Kent. As he realized how vulnerable the world was now, with its protector gone. As he felt the full weight of his responsibility, of his guilt._

 _As he walked out of the graveyard resolved to protect the world as Superman would have, even if it meant giving his life._

 _He had meant every word he had said to the team when he talked about Superman. Superman was a beacon. The world needed him. And Bruce had made him a promise._

He gripped the wheel tighter as he prepared to shoot through, barely a thought given to his now unprotected head.

"I made him a promise…"

This was about the world.

* * *

The acrid smell of burning car filled his nostrils, but he barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the figure that hovered in the sky above them all. Everyone was in the same position, looking up. An eerie, quiet reverence replaced the sounds of battle, carnage and flames that had been present only a moment before.

It was impossible. But then, everything about him was. Bruce kept his eyes trained on the figure as the team landed to his left, on the steps in a perfect line.

Peace settled over him. They had fought hard. They had helped him keep his vow. Maybe he and Clark could start over again.

Because he made him a promise.

* * *

 _ **Sorry I've been ignoring this collection for so long, life has exploded and gone crazy and I just haven't had the time to write at all. But I'm hoping to get at least one more in before Justice League drops in two weeks, and then I don't see why I have to stop there. I haven't forgotten these ficlets and I still have plans for a Lois one before it's complete. Thanks for your patience! :)** _


	7. Chapter 7

_**Wow it's been forever since I wrote for this! I'm back now, pecking away at the list of characters I feel should be included. Of course, Kal-El's parents definitely deserve a place. This is short and sweet, hopefully I can get back to doing this regularly since I do really enjoy it. :)**_

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_

 **Lara and Jor-El**

"Lara?"

Jor-El's voice echoed through the entry of the Citadel. There was no reply. Jor-El looked around, noting the settling dust that still drifted through the air, lending a hazy quality to the interior of his home.

It wasn't the first time Krypton had experienced a quake, and Jor-El was reasonably sure it wouldn't be the last. They had become more and more common in the last year, and with the Council preparing to harvest the core of the planet Jor-El could only assume they would accelerate. No amount of Jor-El's attempts to prove Krypton was in danger had convinced them. It was as if they turned a blind eye to his research.

This one had struck as Jor-El was in transit between the city and his home. Riding H'Raka had given him a rare glimpse of what an earthquake looked like from above without the jarring sensation of being in it. Once he might have been fascinated from a scientific perspective watching the ground heave and buckle, but now he only worried how long they had left. He had pushed his war-kite to go faster, worried that some harm had come to Lara.

A soft whirring sound alerted him to the arrival of Kelor. The robot floated into the room, clearly in answer to his call.

"Kelor, where is Lara?"

"Lady Lara is upstairs, sir." Kelor shifted to one side to allow Jor-El to brush past.

Jor-El paused once he caught sight of his wife, standing in the archway that led to the terrace. Lara was framed in the light still given off by Rao as it began to set, one hand holding the arch and the other resting on her belly. The red sun burnished her hair and skin and reflected off her robes, giving her a quality Jor-El couldn't quite define. Her protruding belly would have made her unsightly in the eyes of most Kryptonians, something abhorred and shunned. But not to him. She looked soft, maternal and warm. He never would have guessed that his wife actually carrying his child in her body could make her more beautiful in his eyes, but that seemed to be exactly what was happening. The stress and worry about her condition, their plan, the future all weighed in his mind but it didn't stop him from taking a moment to appreciate how lucky he was.

Still, there was an urgent quality to her stature that told him she had been concerned about the magnitude of this quake. Even now she was scanning the ground below, looking for damage or signs of stress in the ground. Her hand rubbed over her belly, unconsciously seeking to protect the life inside.

Hearing his approach, she looked his way. It only took a moment for her to decipher the look on his face. "Did you feel that one?"

"Saw it, riding back." Jor-El moved quickly to join her and couldn't help wrapping his arms around her for a moment, he was so grateful to see her unharmed. Lara pressed against his chest, running her fingertips over the glyph there. "Was it bigger than usual?"

"Much bigger. The Rondors have scattered. Kelor estimated it to be twice the magnitude of last time."

Jor-El made a mental note to check his equipment to see if that was true, but the more pressing matter of his family kept him there. His hand joined Lara's on her belly. "Everything okay?"

Lara smiled softly. "We're fine. The quake seemed to excite him." Jor-El could feel the movement that corroborated her statement. Their child was very active at the moment. A particularly strong kick bumped his palm. Jor-El held in a chuckle.

"He's strong." His eyes met Lara's.

"Yes, he is." Lara looked down at their hands. "We haven't decided on a name yet."

Jor-El considered. According to Kelor, the child still had another 8 gestation cycles before he would be born. While the images of his growing body and organs provided by the faithful 'bot were reassuring, in some ways Jor-El felt it was still too soon to name their son, as if they were calling down the wrath of Rao upon themselves. Their course of action was unprecedented for thousands of years. Jor-El's tireless research on the topic had given him a basic understanding of what was to come and how to handle it, but he had found little to nothing on what to do if complications should arise. What if something went wrong?

"Jor?" His hesitation had caught Lara's attention. He opened his mouth to answer, but his worries about the future overtook his words and instead the reason he had been coming home in the first place tumbled out of his mouth.

"I think Zod is planning something."

There was a moment of surprised silence as she processed that statement. "What do you mean?"

Jor-El straightened up, removing his hand from Lara's belly. "I don't know when or how, but he seems to be very quiet lately, arguing with the Council less. And he's deep in conversation with his soldiers whenever I see him. That means he's working on something. He's as committed to saving Krypton as we are, but I'm sure it won't be in the same way. He's building up to something, maybe an uprising, I'm not sure."

Lara was quiet as she took that in. She had become a recluse in order to hide her childbearing state, avoiding social functions and discouraging callers. Not that there were many who remained on the surface anymore. That helped quite a bit. Purposely cut off from society except for Jor-El, she hadn't given Zod much thought recently. He was one of the few who believed Jor-El's predictions but hadn't been able to change the Council's mind either. Of course he wouldn't just give up.

The future seemed to lay out before them both, and they could see it was going to be a race to see who got their plan into action first. And of course, it was just a matter of time before anything either had planned wouldn't matter anymore.

Anything Lara would have said in reply was lost as the terrace suddenly heaved under their feet, lurching into motion once more. Birds took flight as the mountain Citadel shook under the onslaught of another quake.

Lara instinctively pressed her back against the archway, clinging to it for support. She bent her legs at the knees and went to a crouching position for extra stability. Jor-El covered her body with his own and fought to keep his footing, arms outstretched to ward off any falling debris.

As soon as it had started, it was over. Dust, disturbed anew now drifted on the air again, swirling in the red sunlight. Both Jor-El and Lara cautiously lifted their heads and then straightened into a standing position, glancing around them to make sure there was no damage to the terrace. Their eyes met and neither needed to say out loud what the other was thinking.

There had never been quakes so close together before, not in all their years on Krypton. Time was running out.

Kelex and Kelor both whirred into the room, attentive as ever.

"Is everyone unhurt, sir?" Kelex asked.

Jor-El glanced at Lara before he replied. She nodded.

"I think so. Kelor, please show us the child."

Without a word, Kelor scanned Lara's belly and reflected the three-dimensional image of their son curled up inside. His limbs were tucked in close to his body, but even right now he was flexing and pushing them out before they pulled back in, testing the limits of his boundaries. The couple drank in the sight of him.

"The child's vital signs are within normal limits, sir. No complications detected."

"Thank you. Kelex, please check on the construction of the starcraft. We'll be in shortly." Both 'bots left the room.

Lara's expression reflected her husband's as they both thought about the proximity of two quakes in one day and the half-constructed starcraft being secretly built while their son matured. They could feel the looming presence of what they knew would come, the pressure of outside forces and the sheer desperation of their plan. As a scientist, it was a last effort to preserve his race. As a father, it was terrible to consider. He could tell by Lara's face she felt the same.

He placed his hands upon Lara's abdomen again, feeling the bumps and kicks inside. _His son…_

"What shall we name our son, Lara?" It made no rational sense to delay, their son was already here.

Lara put her hands on top of his. "I wanted his name to reflect the history of Krypton, his heritage. But I want it to be a part of his future as well. His ability to choose."

Jor-El waited, sensing she already had something in mind. Lara was always learning, always the historian. But she cared about their future too. She never lost sight of that. It was one reason they had both been able commit to this plan together.

Lara drew a breath. "You know that in the ancient Krypton language, El meant child?"

"Yes," Jor-El replied. As a descendant of that line, he had learned that in his youth.

"Well Kal means star. That's what I want to name him. Kal-El." Lara looked up from their hands to his face.

"Kal-El. 'Star Child,'" Jor-El tested the name, ever aware of the starcraft in the next room being prepared to take his son into the stars, and the Kryptonian heritage he would always possess. He couldn't have found a better name that perfectly encapsulated his son's precarious position, the first natural birth in centuries, the first in just as long to leave Krypton.

If everything went according to plan.

"Kal-El. Our son," Jor-El smiled at Lara. "It's just right."

Lara nodded, and both felt the vigorous kick inside.

Rao was setting and the night sky was becoming visible, along with Rao's four moons. Jor-El wrapped his arms around his wife to ward off the sudden chill and found himself looking at the stars, away from the city in the distance and the deep ribbons carved into the ground that revealed the rest of Krypton society living under the crust. For just a moment they would deny their fate, pretend their future was still unknown.

They stood on the terrace together, watching the stars.

* * *

 _ **The ancient Kryptonian name of Kal-El meaning "star child" is correct and from the comics, I felt it was appropriate to include here.**_

 _ **I feel an itch to rewatch MoS again, maybe it will help push me into writing more, lol. Thanks for the comments and support, I appreciate it! :)** _


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